The Shadows
by AKxx
Summary: Draco Malfoy watches Hermione Weasley from the shadows; Draco Malfoy and Hermione Malfoy step out of the shadows. Two one-shots that show what is, and what could have been. Part 1: From the Shadows. Part 2: Out of the Shadows.
1. Chapter 1

From The Shadows

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Scorpius walked quickly behind his father, trying to keep up with his pace. They wove through the streets and lanes off Diagon Alley, people parting like the red sea for them. They always did. His father had that effect on people. Scorpius hoped that one day he could be as powerful as his father, Draco Malfoy. If only to make him proud.

They arrived at Diagon Alley, and his father took a sharp turn to the right. Scorpius sighed quietly; he knew where they were going. But he didn't know why. He never knew why they would visit that shop as much as they did. 'Hermione's Emporium' was a large shop on Diagon Alley. It was quite popular as it sold a variety of muggle and wizarding products. The witches of London seemed particularly fond of the muggle romance novel section of the store. His mother was one of them. But his mother would not admit to this lest his father become upset at her meddling in muggle culture.

But that confused Scorpius more than anything. His father hated muggles, mudbloods, and anything to do with them. But he visited this shop every week. He would always buy something. But Scorpius would never see him with the merchandise at home. The books he purchased were never in the Manor's library, the ingredients he purchased were never in the potions supply cupboard, the sweets he purchased were never eaten. He didn't know what his father did with the products he bought from the store.

They entered the busy store that they had been in only days prior. Scorpius immediately set off to the toy section to browse. But he was bored. He saw all the toys only three days ago. But he pretends to be interested. His father would be angry if he complained or pouted. He stood by the toys for a little while but decided that he was just too bored, before he wandered off to find his father. He decided he would just continue to follow his father around the store. It was more interesting to watch people scurry away from him.

Scorpius rounded a corner and spotted his father examining a jar of brewspurts in his hand. He walked over to him and stood quietly to the side. His father did not notice his presence. But Scorpius noticed that his father's eyes shifted up toward the sales counter. The mudblood was there. The bushy haired one. The one that everyone knew about. Scorpius scowled as he looked at her. Mudblood. But his father wasn't scowling. His father's eyes were alight with something he'd never seen before. He was watching her intently as she engrossed herself in a tattered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. The book had obviously been read by the mudblood countless times. Scorpius did not know what the book was about. He had never heard of it before. But his father seemed to know it. Or at least Scorpius thought so, from the twitch of his lip. It seemed as though his father was fighting off a smile. His father never smiled. He lost the battle. His father was smiling, and Scorpius stared at him in awe. He had never smiled. There were no pictures of his father smiling, not even on the day of his birth. Not when he held his son in his arms for the first time, or married his high school sweetheart (although Scorpius knew it was arranged since birth). His father never smiled.

But there he was: Draco Malfoy smiling at the woman reading her favourite novel.

His father's smile disappeared and his lips contorted into a feral snarl. Scorpius looked back over at the mudblood and saw her blood traitor husband beside her. The couple were smiling and laughing. The red head took her lips in a gentle kiss. Scorpius looked at his father. His face was snarling, his fist was clenched, and Scorpius noticed the hand that held the jar of brewspurts had gone whiter from the strength of the grip he had on it. So very peculiar, Scorpius thought. The blood traitor gave the mudblood one last kiss that bordered on inappropriate for public places, before turning and going to help a customer tame a particularly aggressive pixie.

He could have sworn he heard his father hiss. But before he could give it much thought, Draco Malfoy stormed over to the smiling mudblood at the sales register. He placed the jar on the counter, followed quickly by a small silk bundle of coins.

The mudblood turned to his father with the smile still on her face. It faltered a little when she realised who the customer was. Scorpius moved to stand beside his father.

"Malfoy." She smiled forcibly.

His father didn't respond. He just looked at her, his upper lip twitching slightly.

"I think we should set up a loyalty program just for you!" She said as she wrapped the jar in brown paper. "You were in here earlier this week, no?"

He didn't respond. He just looked at her. She bit her lip, obviously uncomfortable but trying to remain polite.

She removed the right about of galleons from the sack and placed it in the register.

She noticed Scorpius by Draco's side.

"Hi." She smiled at him.

"Hello." He clipped.

"You looked exactly like your father did at your age, you know?" She smiled at him, but Scorpius saw the glint of distaste in her eyes.

"I've been told." Scorpius said.

He hated it when mudbloods talked to him. As a Malfoy, he had to be polite. Although his father did not care much for his own rules, if his interaction with the mudblood was anything to go by.

"Well, here you are." She smiled as she handed the small package back to his father.

His father took the item from her hand, but Scorpius noticed that his father went out of his way to brush his fingers against the mudblood's hand. His father inclined his head, turned and walked out of the store, his expensive black robes billowing behind him. Scorpius shuffled to keep up with his father, bewilderment on his face.

They apparated home to the large Malfoy Manor. His father was quiet, as he always was. He followed his father up the grand staircase, but they separated when they reached the first level. His father did not say goodbye. He just walked straight to his 'special' room. Nobody went in there. His mother tried to once, but his father crucio'd her. She did not try again. She ignored the room's existence now. Scorpius was crying when his father cursed his mother. But he did not intervene. It would be silly to try. He would only be lashed for it.

Scorpius knew that his father did not love his mother. But it did not upset him. In their world – the pureblood society – marriages were arranged, and had nothing to do with love. Love was weakness in their eyes. Scorpius was only twelve years old, and he had a fiancé; Lucy Greengrass. She was ok. She was beautiful, but Scorpius paid her no mind. She did not interest him.

Scorpius decided to hide in an alcove near his father's special room. He wanted to know what was so secret. What did he hide in there? Was it something to do with the mudblood he touched? He couldn't control his curiosity. If he were caught, he would be lashed. At least twenty lashes. But it would be worth it. Maybe.

Scorpius waited for two hours. He had almost fallen asleep as he crouched in the shadows of the alcove. But the noise of the door opening jolted him awake and alert.

His father sauntered past him in the corridor but did not see him. Scorpius waited until his father was out of sight, and quietly snuck toward the door. He breathed a sigh of relief when he caught the door with his foot before it shut. Once that door was shut, he knew there would be no way to open it. It had been charmed by his father.

He conjured a book with his wand and placed it against the door so it would not close and lock him in there. He smirked triumphantly and turned around to face the room.

The room was large in size, and organised. There were shelves against the wall, all lined with objects neatly. The centre of the room featured a large leather arm chair and a small coffee table. Scorpius walked over to the closest shelf and let his eyes scan the items that resided there.

The objects were miscellaneous. Scorpius scrunched up his face in confusion. He recognised many of the items to be merchandise his father purchased from Hermione's Emporium, but there were many things he did not recognise. There was a leaflet in a silver frame that caught his attention. It read 'S.P.E.W.' Odd. It was something about house elf rights. Odder. His father hated house elves.

He sighed as he walked over to the other wall. He scanned the items on the shelf. Several copies of 'Pride and Prejudice' scattered the shelf. The mudblood was reading that in the store. How strange.

He took a large book from the shelf and flipped it open. A scrapbook. He laughed at the image of his father participating in scrapbooking. He would pay handsomely to see that. It was full of newspaper clippings and photographs. All of which referred to the mudblood. There was one picture showing her hugging the 'Chosen One' inside of a large tent. The Tri-Wizard Tournament, the attached article said. Boring. He flipped the page. A picture of the mudblood in a pink dress. 'The Yule Ball', his father's elegant handwriting inscribed beneath the picture.

He flipped the page. No picture. A single blade of grass was stuck to the page. A small piece of parchment. A smear of toothpaste. A lock of red hair. His father's handwriting headed the page; 'Amortentia: The aroma she smelled.' What the hell?

He flipped the page. A picture from the Daily Prophet. The mudblood smiling at the camera, both hands on her pregnant belly.

One sentence was written underneath the photograph.

 _It could have been mine._

Scorpius frowned at the words.

He shrugged and placed the scrapbook back on the shelf. He scanned the room again but saw nothing else that caught his interest. Boring. He sighed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He walked to his room as he thought about the strange items that his father kept. If Scorpius did not know any better, he would say his father cared for the mudblood. But of course that was ludicrous. His father hated mudbloods more than anything in this world. He made sure to teach Scorpius of their unworthiness from a young age. And now Scorpius shared his father's beliefs.

Mudbloods were filth. the His father hated mudbloods more than anything in this world. He made sure to teach Scorpius of their unworthiness from a young age. And now Scorpius shared his father's beliefs.

Mudbloods were filth. They were disgusting and did not belong in this world. In any world. They should all be killed. For they were inferior. Disgusting. A mockery. Vile.

Yes. Scorpius shared his father's beliefs.

But as he entered his room and threw himself on his bed, he could not help but think about Hogwarts.

He was to go back to Hogwarts the following day for the start of second year. He was excited. He got to see the half-blood again. Not that he liked her or anything. Rose Weasley. She was beautiful. But her blood was tainted. So he hated her. Her mother was a mudblood, and her father was a blood traitor. She was filth. But such pretty filth. So he would watch her from the shadows. As he always did.

Much like his father had done with his mudblood. But Scorpius did not know that. He did not know that he was destined for a life without love. Without happiness. That he would act much like his father in later years. Watching his love. But never declaring it. Never accepting it. Forever miserable. Such was the Malfoy way of life. The life of a pureblood.

Watching their loves.

Their inferior loves.

From the shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

Out of The Shadows

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Draco smiled warmly as his wife entered his office. Her eyes lit up as she spotted him sitting at his large mahogany desk, causing the familiar flutter in his chest to rise. He loved how she looked at him. Her eyes showed almost as much love and adoration as his own. She pranced over to him excitedly, seating herself on his lap as he wrapped his arms around her small frame. Draco nuzzled his face into her luscious curls, inhaling her scent deeply; savouring it. Always she smelled of cinnamon. He loved it.

"Draco," she cooed, shifting in his lap.

"Hermione," he whispered, his arms pulling her closer to him.

"I missed you," she pouted, wiggling in his hold to position her body so she was straddling him.

"I missed you more," he grinned at her.

He had only gone to the Malfoy Enterprises headquarters for little more than two hours, but he hated to be away from her. Even if it was for a mere moment. Hence why Draco and Hermione Malfoy employed two nannies to care for their sons, as they couldn't find the strength to part from one another.

Hermione spent most of her time in his large office. She would lay on the chaste lounge watching him work or reading a novel. She hardly left the Malfoy Manor at all, only venturing outside of the stone walls when accompanied by her husband. She rarely visited her friends, Ginny and Lavender, as she preferred to be in the company of her husband. He was her best friend. Her lover. Her beloved. Her everything. She lived and breathed for him. As he did her.

Ginny and Lavender had been shocked, to say the least, at Hermione's declaration of love for the former death eater. Although they were supportive, as Draco had aided the Order in the final battle at Hogwarts. He saved her life multiple times, but she was less than grateful at the time. She saw him as little more than a racist snake following the victory of the Order, but one day that all changed.

Hermione sat alone at a small café in muggle London, silent tears streaming down her face as she thought of Ron and Harry. Her best friends. She recalled her constant bickering with Ron wistfully. She would have given anything to argue with him just one last time. She recalled Harry's bravery as he faced Voldemort at the young age of seventeen, wishing she could gaze into his fierce green eyes just once more. But she couldn't, and that's why Hermione sat in tears at the café. She mourned for her best friends. Her friends who successfully defeated Voldemort. But at a price. It cost them both their lives.

Back then, Hermione was overwhelmed with grief and bitterness. She never understood why Draco Malfoy saved her from the same fate as her friends. When he tackled her out of the way of the green curse. She hated him for it. She should have died with Harry and Ron. But she didn't, and she blamed Draco Malfoy. Her saviour. Her tormentor. Because that's what he was. Her tormentor. She was tormented every day following the final battle, as she wanted nothing more than to join her friends in death. But because he saved her life, she lived. Without Harry. Without Ron. She never thought she would feel happiness again.

How wrong she was. Draco Malfoy sat silently across from her at the small round table in the café. Her glassy eyes remained fixed on the cloudy sky as she thought of her friends, completely oblivious to the snake sat across from her. Oblivious to Draco pouring a small vial of pearly liquid into her coffee. A potion that, to him, smelled of cinnamon and parchment. It smelled of her. The mudblood he had loved since he first saw her. He hadn't known she was a muggle-born to begin with; he hadn't considered it. He was completely transfixed on the bushy haired girl as she entered the compartment on the Hogwarts Express, asking if he had seen a toad. Apparently Longbottom had lost it or something. He didn't respond to her question. He just gaped at her. Her hair was a frightful bushy mess back then, but he loved it. Her small heart-shaped face featured large chocolate brown eyes and pink plump lips. Her nose was small and cute, turned up in the air as she looked rather snootily at him. He would have smirked at her haughtiness if he wasn't so captivated. She was gone almost as quickly as she had arrived, leaving only the scent of cinnamon behind.

That was the day he fell in love with Hermione Granger. The mudblood.

Of course he had resented her for some time, considering her inferior blood. But he loved her nevertheless. He still held his views on blood purity, believing her to be inferior to him. But, again, he loved her regardless. He didn't like to discuss blood purity with her, however. It only reminded him of the cause of her affections. She would agree with him wholeheartedly, eager to please him. An unfortunate side effect of the potion. Some days he would lace her food with a mild dose of the potion, just to enjoy her feistiness. But most days he just wanted her to love him. Like he loved her.

So for thirteen years, Draco Malfoy slipped the potion into Hermione's food and drinks; making her love him. It took him almost two years to perfect her dosage. To find the right balance between the Hermione he loved, and the Hermione the potion created. But he loved all of her now. The potion made her love him, yes. But it hardly affected her personality. She was still fiery, but never at him; she only wished to please him. But he enjoyed seeing the passion inside of her. At times he considered testing her. If he were to not provide her with her daily dose of the potion, would she love him still? Did the Hermione underneath the fog in her mind, learn to love him? They had spent thirteen years together, bore two beautiful boys, and he had treated her like the queen she was. Perhaps she would love him without the potion? He hoped she would. But he never found the courage to test her. For if she rejected him, his heart would be destroyed. He couldn't take it if she hurt him; rejected him. No, it was much easier to hope than be crushed. It was easier to live a blissful lie out of the shadows, than to watch her miserably from the shadows.

"What did you do while I was gone?" Draco asked as he brushed his knuckles over her cheek softly.

"I sat with the children," Hermione smiled at his touch.

"Would you like to go out this evening, my love?" Draco asked softly, his fingers now stroking her hair.

"Yes," she smiled. "What do you have in mind?"

"Perhaps," he began, his fingertips tracing her plump lips, "we could venture into muggle London." He grinned as her eyes lit up. "We could go to pictures, if you please."

Draco Malfoy cared naught for muggle entertainment. He found the cinema dreadfully boring, preferring the theatre and opera. But Hermione was very fond of the cinema, and he loved to make her happy. If only to see her eyes light up. He felt that when they were alight, he was seeing the real her. Inside of her somewhere, coming to the surface. Smiling, for him. Loving him. Regardless of the potion.

"I'd like that," she said as she kissed his fingertips.

He smiled at her as he leaned forward and kissed her pink plump lips softly. She melted against him, in his arms, her pregnant belly pressing against his hard chest. He loved her pregnant belly. It was evidence. That she was his. Evidence that he owned her. It alerted others that she was taken. By him. That her body was his. That she carried his child. Their third son.

Perhaps he would deny her the potion tomorrow. Maybe she would love him without the Amortentia. Now that she knew him. Now that they were married. They had two boys, and one on the way. Perhaps she would accept him without the love potion. Perhaps.

Draco Malfoy told himself what he told himself every day.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe she will love me tomorrow. Without the potion.

They would be together. Willingly. In love. Forever.

Out of the shadows.


End file.
